“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(I read her the session at 2:48. Jane was moaning and crying. She didn’t want to hear my notes for the session, or the poem she’d dictated yesterday. I thought it important that she hear the notes, but had no choice except to wait.

(We were talking at 3:45 when the phone rang. It was John Bumbalo. His father, Joe, had died at 2:00 p.m. John had just left the house, as Jane and I had left the rest home just before my mother died in November, 1973. Jane spoke to John, thanking him for looking after me. John told her I was “a wonderful man.” I felt a surge of emotion, half unbelieving, when she told me. Jane began to hum a song we both knew but couldn’t place — perhaps an aria from an Italian or Spanish opera. She said she thought it was connected to Joe somehow.

(After a late supper I went over to see the Bumbalo family. Margaret and I hugged. She almost cried. I could tell they’d all been crying. Yet they had the Olympics on TV, and John offered me a scotch and soda. There was much laughing and joking too. Margaret asked me if I’d be an honorary pallbearer at Joe’s funeral, and I said sure. She said I didn’t have to do anything. The first thought that crossed my mind was that I didn’t have a suit to wear — just my corduroys. I didn’t mention this.